


Names of insight, foresight, love

by Elesianne



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf Culture & Customs, Family, Family Angst, Family Fluff, Gen, Names, Parent-Child Relationship, Prophetic Visions, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: A series of ficlets about Nerdanel giving mother-names to her sons: short, somewhat fluffy, occasionally angsty family scenes. Take a look if you like elven naming traditions or little sons of Fëanor.





	1. Maitimo

**Author's Note:**

> I first posted these ficlets on [my Tumblr](http://elesianne.tumblr.com) because I originally intended them to be headcanons rather than fics but in the end most of them became such fic-like little scenes that I decided to post them here as well after doing some editing. Maedhros and Maglor's ficlets have been substantially expanded, the others were just polished. There's one chapter per son except that the twins, of course, share a chapter like they mostly shared a name.
> 
> I tried to explain the names within the text well enough that you should be able to enjoy this even if you are not very familiar with them. A reminder list of Quenya names can be found [here](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/post/153874978666/tolkien-meta-rambling-the-quenya-names-of-the).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is new, expanded from the very short piece I posted on Tumblr. I wrestled with this a long while but still feel like it's not as good as some of the younger brothers'.
> 
>  _Amilessë_ =mother-name.

Holding her first child is a marvel, an awe-inspiring thing. The boy is a beautiful child and sweet-natured too, always calming down as soon as he is held by her or Fëanáro. And as Nelyafinwë grows Nerdanel can see that their child has all the best of both her and her husband: his fire and her steadiness, her reddish hair and his fine features. Nelyo has something all of his own too, an ability to inspire love and loyalty in the people around him by showing those himself, and it makes him all the more beautiful to his mother.

Though it pains her to show so little care, she gives him his mother-name in his early childhood without waiting for any particular insight or vision. She does it after realising just how much his father-name hurts Fëanáro's family.

For she has noticed that her husband's older half-brother winces a little every time he speaks the name Nelyafinwë, third Finwë, a name that makes it sound like Nolofinwë and his younger brother don’t even exist. Nolofinwë does not seem to fault the child for a name, thankfully, but he clearly thinks Fëanáro's choice of name for his firstborn shows his every flaw. Arafinwë, as usual, says nothing, shows no consternation and makes Nelyafinwë laugh by gently tickling his belly whenever he sees him.

And while Finwë never reproves his eldest and dearest son for the impolite, incendiary name he gave his first son, Nerdanel sees also a  very, very faint look of grief – of lost hope that things could be otherwise – when the king addresses his grandson by that name.

Once Nerdanel decides that she cannot wait any longer to give Nelyafinwë another name, her first, instinctual thought is that she should name him for his looks.

For it is not just his doting parents who think that little Nelyo is a remarkably pretty child. His wavy red hair is admired by all, and his clear grey eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes are said to show unusual wisdom for a child so young. He is well-proportioned and graceful, swift-footed and in possession of a sweet, shy smile whose appearance is often a delightful surprise.

Ever since he is a babe sleeping in his cradle he is Nerdanel's favourite subject to sculpt, and when a little older he makes valiant efforts to pose for her, sitting still when all he wants to do is run around catching dust motes in the air in his mother's large, light-filled studio. When Nerdanel notices him fidgeting and tells him that it is all right to take a break, he always stays a moment longer before allowing himself the freedom.

(That is another thing that is all his, Nerdanel reflects, his tendency to always push himself a little bit further than anyone expects him to, even though he is so young he should know nothing yet of self-discipline. She hopes it isn't anything she has taught him without noticing, and fears that Fëanáro might have.)

One day she is again trying to capture her son's beautiful form and spirit and failing once again, grieving the fact she cannot capture in sculpture the lovely curve of his lashes when he gazes up at her fondly, and a name arrives. A simple name, a simple compliment, but she rather thinks that an overly poetic name would not do her firstborn. For though little Nelyo appreciates beauty and art as much as any child of the Noldor, he does not seem to chase the creation of it as his parents do.

'Take a break now, my Maitimo', she tells him to see how he reacts to being called 'well-shaped'.

He gazes at her, bright-eyed and thoughtful. 'Is that your new name for me?' he asks softly.

'It could be', she replies. 'If you will have it.' She finds that she is pleased by the thought of her child choosing to take as his own the name she has chosen: a wanted gift, she hopes, rather than an edict issued to him.

'Everyone says I am beautiful', Nelyafinwë says after a moment. 'Am I, mama?'

He makes it sound like everyone calling him beautiful makes it less likely to be true; how odd, Nerdanel thinks, a little disturbed. 'Yes, sweetheart, you are very beautiful', she tells him. 'But that is not the most important thing nor the best thing about you. The best thing is your sweet heart.'

Nelyo smiles at the simple word-play. 'I will be Maitimo if you think it suits me.'

Nerdanel says that she does think so, admiring her son's little dimples whose appearance always delights her. After one more thoughtful yet smiling moment Maitimo allows himself the break his mother told him to take and goes around the studio curiously inspecting everything that has changed even a little since he last was in this room.

Nerdanel takes a break herself, keeping an eye on her son and wondering what her next child will look like, the one who is still a precious secret only she and Fëanáro know. She is certain that Maitimo will be an excellent big brother.

When Nerdanel shares the name she chose with others, all in the family are relieved to have another name to call Nelyo. And while he, a child whose modesty confounds his father, sometimes suffers embarrassment and teasing about his amilessë, he later chooses it to be his preferred name.

His mother asks him why he made the choice, and Maitimo tells his her that he didn't choose it simply to be diplomatic, but also because he likes his mother-name. 'I don't care so much about the opinions of others', he says with the confidence of a young man who has been called attractive all his life, 'but I am glad to be beautiful to you, mother.'

Nerdanel is both pleased and confused. How could Maitimo, her beloved firstborn, think he could ever be anything else to her? But she doesn't voice her confusion, only smiles at him. He smiles back, and Nerdanel cannot help wondering how many hearts those perfect dimples have already broken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien's statement that Nerdanel desired _'to understand minds rather than to master them'_ inspired me to envision these scenes of her giving names to her sons as negotiations rather than declarations.


	2. Makalaurë

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to spell Maglor's Quenya father-names as Kanafinwë because that means 'chicken Finwë’ in my native language and it hurts me to type that, so I use Canafinwë.
> 
> Also sorry, Maglor, your ficlet is the shortest of all.

Canafinwë has to wait a few years longer for a mother-name than Maitimo did, for while Nerdanel realises early that his name must have something to do with his very early manifested love and talent for music, she is not certain exactly what the name should be. Simple names like eager singer or beautiful verse sound so prosaic, and a prosaic name will not do for her little minstrel who is fire-spirited in his own way and has a flair for drama and performance as well as music and poetry.

So Nerdanel decides to wait, for some special inspiration or at least the deeper understanding of her child that she knows years will bring.

The right name comes to her the first time his music makes her cry, which happens sooner than she would have expected.

Canafinwë is giving an impromptu home concert to his parents and his two brothers, his face scrunched up in concentration as he sits at his new harp in the airy, delicately decorated room that has quickly become known as 'Cáno’s music room'. The harp is twice his size and the sight of it should be funny, but the music he creates with his nimble fingers and his strong voice is far from silly.

It is a sad song, the first very sad song Canafinwë’s tutor has taught him. Its deep sorrow that still echoes with beauty should be incomprehensible for someone as young as Nerdanel and Fëanáro’s second son, but somehow he seems to understand it and is able to convey it to his small audience. Even baby Turkafinwë listens quietly for once.

It feels like she can see the music, Nerdanel thinks, as strands of gold detaching themselves from the strings of Cáno’s harp and twirling in the air, beautiful in their brilliance and sad in their transience, for they fade away just as her eye has begun to follow their twisting trail.

With a start she realises that there are tears flowing down her face; she doesn't wipe them away or try to stop them, for it is right that she should cry. Not all tears are evil, and it touches her heart that her child can do something this beautiful.

Canafinwë finishes his song and looks to his family for applause, but his face falls when he looks at his mother. He jumps down from his stool and runs to her.

‘What is wrong, mother, why are you crying?’ he asks, confused and alarmed, clinging to her knees. He is suddenly her little boy again instead of the masterful musician he was just a moment ago. Nerdanel lifts him to her lap – it takes some effort these days, but she is strong – and hugs him close.

'I am crying because your music was beautiful.’ Cáno still looks hesitant. 'Do you remember how I told you a while ago that sometimes beauty makes you smile and sometimes it makes you cry? Well, these are good tears, my little Makalaurë.’

'Makalaurë?’ he asks, testing the sound of the name on his tongue. _Cleaver of gold_. 'Makalaurë’, he repeats with a smile. Then he sings his new name, first quietly and then louder, until the room echoes with his joyful voice and the air shimmers with a golden haze brighter than the light of Laurelin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel is called 'the wise' so I don't think it inappropriate that her thoughts echo Gandalf's wise words in Lord of the Rings ('not all tears are evil').


	3. Tyelkormo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien says in the Shibboleth that Celegorm's mother-name was in reference to his habit of ‘leaping up when suddenly angered’ as well as his quick temper, so that was my starting point for this piece.

Turkafinwë is an easy one to name, though Nerdanel hesitates for a time after a name arrives in her mind, thinking it might be too frivolous.

Most children develop curious habits – sleeping in a strange position, singing to their toes, fixating on an odd foodstuff – and Nerdanel thinks she’d rather like to name her third son for his, a tendency to leap up suddenly when he is angry and then storm off to another room or out to the garden.

At first someone always follows him, Nerdanel or Fëanáro or the nurse or Maitimo, but they soon learn that Turko rarely goes to make any mischief. He just needs some time to himself to calm down and get rid of his furious energy. He might do it by jumping on his bed, bouncing a ball off the wall or digging an unnecessary hole in the garden with his small shovel. So once he is a little older, they let him run off and calm down on his own as he prefers.

But sometimes it feels like he shouldn’t be left alone with his anger. One evening there is a particularly furious three-way screaming match about the last piece of dessert between Makalaurë, Turkafinwë and little Morifinwë. In the middle of shouting Turko stops suddenly, scowls at his brothers, jumps from his chair and runs from the room. Nerdanel can see his legs shake with the force of his fury, and she pushes her chair back with a sigh and gets up.

'Fëanáro, get something sweet from the kitchen for Makalaurë since he was accidentally left without dessert. Maitimo dear, help Moryo blow his nose, would you? I’ll go talk with Turko.’

A series of clatters and crashes from Turko’s bedroom tells her that he sought refuge there this time. She finds him sitting on the floor and methodically throwing everything in his toy basket at the opposite wall.

His mother sits down next to him, and he puts down the toy already in his hand.

'I did _not_ eat the last piece on purpose, I swear, I didn’t know Makalaurë hadn’t taken any, and he shouldn’t have scolded me for it!’ Turko’s scowl is as fierce as his father’s at Fëanáro's worst moments, but he crawls closer to his mother and allows her to put an arm around him when she tells him she believes him.

'But you should have appealed to your father and me, don't you agree, instead of throwing your plate at him and shouting.’

She only receives an indistinct murmur as answer.

'And then you ran away before we could resolve the matter.’

'I had to run away, mother.’

'Why, Turko? Why did you have to run away once again?’ She peeks down at her son, messy-haired and pale as he always is when angry.

'I jump up and run away when I get angry because I want to shout and to hit someone and I don’t want to do that. But that was stupidly said. I meant–’

'I understand what you mean, dear’, Nerdanel says and envelops the self-consciously squirming boy in her arms, calming him with her touch. Turko is such a restless child, so different from her first two, full of energy and joy and anger just waiting to erupt out of him at any moment.

She tells him, 'It is indeed better to run away for a while than to hurt someone you love during a moment of anger that makes you forget that you love them.’

'Exactly, mama, that is it.’ Turko looks up at her, relieved that she understands. 'Especially with Moryo. He is smaller than me, and I know it would be especially wrong to hit him. But he is so loud and annoying, I can’t help wanting to make him be quiet and stop stealing my things.’

'It is good to think of your little brother. Sweetheart, I hope that in time your father and I can help you learn to control your temper without having to run away from the cause of your anger, but for now, I am proud of you for developing a way to limit the consequences.’

Turko frowns up at her, and Nerdanel realises she might have to put the matter a little more simply for him to understand it. 'I’m glad that you thought of a way not to hurt your brothers.’

Turko sweeps silver-white hair away from his eyes and smiles at her, a beautiful child with a brilliant smile that comes very easy to him, and Nerdanel realises that the name she has been hiding in her heart might be just right.

'Would you mind if I called you Tyelkormo?’ she asks him, to be sure.

'For my amilessë?’

'Yes, _hasty riser_ for your amilessë.’

'I wouldn’t mind’, says her quicksilver son, already leaping up to run back to the dining room to tell everyone about his new name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one interpretation of Celegorm 'leaping up when angered', a more charitable one than some others I came up with. Celegorm may have committed cruel deeds later but I like to think he made efforts to rein in his temper and worse instincts when he was young. If only he could always have remembered the lesson of not hurting those weaker than you…


	4. Carnistir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carnistir's mother-name doesn't exactly sound flattering, but I tried to do a somewhat positive take on it. It was the name he preferred, after all.
> 
>  _epessë_ =nickname, _amilessë_ =mother-name

As long as he can remember, Morifinwë has disliked his father-name.

He knows that with his ink-black hair, storm-grey eyes and ruddy skin darker than his mother's, his looks are darker than those of most of the Noldor who in general are far from fair. But why must his name refer to that? Surely his very clever father could have thought of another name, one that described something more pleasant in him, like Turko’s strength or Cáno’s powerful voice.

For even though he is but a child, he knows that _light_ is associated with things good and beautiful – what does that say about him, named for his darkness?

He tells people not to call him Morifinwë, the name that describes him as the darkest of Finwë's line. He prefers the less formal Moryo, or even the half-affectionate, half-teasing nickname his brothers have taken to calling him: Carnistir, _red-face_ , for his reddish skin turns even redder when he is taken over by some strong emotion.

One day his grandfather Finwë tells him of the long journey their people chose to make across land and sea so that they could live in the light of the Trees. Morifinwë has heard the story before, but the reverence in his grandfather’s voice when he speaks of seeing the golden and silver light for the first time awakens an unhappiness in him that refuses to go away.

He seeks his mother out the next day and asks her for a name.

Surprised, Nerdanel lays down her mallet and chisel and asks him the reason for his request.

‘I don’t like my name’, he says, picking at the hem of his charcoal grey tunic. Even his clothes are dark, he realises.

His mother sits down next to him on the studio floor, heedless of the marble dust that swirls around and settles on her apron and skirts alike. 'I am sorry to hear that, darling. What about it don’t you like?’

Morifinwë has never talked of this and it isn’t easy, not even to his mother who is the best listener he knows. 'It says I’m dark, the dark Finwë’, he mutters so quietly that his mother has to bend down to hear him. 'It makes it sound like father thought I’m ugly or bad.’

'Oh, my darling, no! That is not what your father thought at all.’ Nerdanel puts her hands around Moryo’s face and looks into his anguished eyes, so dark they are almost black; she thinks them beautiful and unique, like her son.

She tells him, 'The first time your father held you in his arms and you opened your eyes and looked at him, he greeted you as his little dark one, and he certainly didn’t mean it as an insult. He said it with love, and he named you with love.’

Morifinwë is rather often cross with his father and his father with him, but he does know that Fëanáro loves him, so he believes his mother’s words. But still…

He says, 'Maybe he didn’t mean it in a bad way, but it still feels bad. I would like another name.’

'Of course you must have another name, then. I haven’t thought of anything yet, though. I thought I’d wait a little longer –’

'I would like it now’, Morifinwë says, gathering all his hard-learned manners to not demand rudely but not even considering not being stubborn.

'Hmm’, says his mother. 'You don’t like being called dark, but what about red?’ She strokes his cheek, freckled like hers. Though their hair colour is very different, Nerdanel thinks Morifinwë looks most like her out of all her sons.

Morifinwë frowns, then brightens. 'Like Carnistir?’

'You like that name, don’t you? Though Makalaurë first invented it to tease you, I suspect.’

'He did. But I kind of like it anyway.’

'So do I.’ Morifinwë flushes when he is angered, but also when he concentrates on something he enjoys with a fierce single-mindedness that always amuses Nerdanel and warms her heart. 'Would you like that epessë to become your amilessë?’

'Red is better than dark’, Morifinwë muses.

'Your mother-name doesn’t have to be Carnistir, though. I can think of another name, I just need a little bit of time. Not much, I promise.’

'No, it is good. I can be Carnistir.’ The matter decided, the boy turns in his mother’s embrace to look at the shape that is emerging from the marble block she is working. 'What is that going to be?’

Taking her son’s hand, Nerdanel leads him around the sculpture-to-be and tells him of her plans.

He listens, but in his mind he repeats, _Carnistir. Carnistir._ The name has much more weight now that his mother has said it, not just his teasing big brothers.

_I am Carnistir, and red is better than dark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather random headcanon note: later Carnistir realises that his parents dressed him in dark clothes because they suit him, and he keeps wearing dark shades of grey, maroon and green when he gets old enough to choose his own clothes. In [Your spirit calling out to mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8756014/chapters/20070814), whenever I bother to describe his clothes, these are the colours he wears.


	5. Atarinkë

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be mild angst.
> 
> Curufin was the only son of Fëanor to prefer his father-name.

When their fifth son is born Fëanáro gives him his own father-name simply because the baby looks so much like him. They cannot know yet, not for certain at least, that this son will prove to be the most like his father in spirit as well.

Fëanáro will claim later that he knew, but Nerdanel sees his poorly hidden delighted surprise when Curufinwë, not even old enough to talk, begins to show the same relentless curiosity and passion for finding out how things work that drives his father. Baby Curvo will point at something and make insistent noises until someone tells him what it is and shows him how it works.

His brothers find it a fun game at first, though they sometimes don’t have the patience to explain things in a way that a baby will understand, and all but Maitimo eventually tire of doing it anyway. Fëanáro never does: he takes Curufinwë around with him more than he did any of the others, the boy first on his hip and later toddling after him on his little legs. Fëanáro shortens his swift strides just enough that Curufinwë can keep up with him.

He starts teaching Curufinwë earlier than his older brothers, too, in his letters and in the basics of crafting at the same time, even taking on the boring elementary tuition that he has often left to Nerdanel. She spends more time with their other sons, trying to make sure they don’t feel neglected. They have so many children now, and in his excitement Fëanáro sometimes forgets to think about equal treatment.

Curufinwë thrives under his father’s attention and tutelage even if he sometimes becomes anxious about not being a fast enough learner. It is clear for everyone to see that the day his father gives him his own little set of tools – perfect miniatures of the ones Fëanáro uses, just as carefully crafted out of the best materials – is the best day of his young life. He’d take the tools everywhere with him if he could.

And he delights so in his father-name, takes such pride in it, that Nerdanel doubts he feels like he needs any other name. She cannot help but think of Carnistir who came to her younger than Curufinwë is now and asked for a name. Yet even if Curufinwë doesn’t desire another name he must have a name given by his mother, and Nerdanel can only think of one.

She lets him know it first, as with all her sons, for she would rather see his reaction in private conversation in their home than at the grand ceremony where the name is announced to everyone.

She pushes toys and tools off his bed and pats the spot next to her. Curufinwë is unhappy to interrupted while doing his homework but his father has told him to do as his mother says, so he leaves his place at his desk and comes to sit next to her.

‘What is it, mother?’

There is a spot of ink on his nose that he hasn’t noticed, and Nerdanel wipes it away. Curufinwë likes to appear neat, young though he is.

'I have a name for you.’

Curufinwë sits up straighter and looks at her with intent, bright eyes. 'What is it?’

'Atarinkë.’ _Little father._

Nerdanel had thought that he would be pleased, but Curufinwë’s eyes fill with shocked disappointment. After only a second he looks down and the long fall of his sleek dark hair covers all his face might show.

'I – thank you for the name, mother.’

'You don’t like it.’ Nerdanel lifts his chin and looks at him in concern.

'It is the name you have chosen for me, so it must be a good name’, says Curufinwë, but he doesn’t meet her eyes.

'No, that is not how it goes, not in our family at least. Curufinwë dear. Tell me why you don’t like this name.’ It is a gentle demand, but a demand nonetheless.

Curufinwë clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap. 'My father-name is the same as my father’s, an equal name. My new mother-name –’ he says the word as if it is a foul taste in his mouth '– implies that I am a lesser version of him.’

'I did not mean it to imply that’, Nerdanel says and strokes his hair; he flinches at first but then allows it. 'I meant it to emphasise how you are your father’s son, how eager you are to learn all he teaches and to follow in his footsteps. But if you think the name hurtful, I can still choose a different one. It hasn’t been declared to anyone but you yet.’

'It is done’, Curufinwë says with a voice of fateful finality. In his own way this young son is just as prone to behaving dramatically as Macalaurë, Nerdanel thinks to herself, hiding a small, sad smile.

‘It is the name you want to give me, so you may announce it and call me by it’, the boy continues. 'But to everyone else I will still be Curufinwë.’

'As you wish’, Nerdanel replies with a sigh and holds him close, hoping she could do the right thing with this fifth son even half as often as her husband does so effortlessly.


	6. Ambarussa, Umbarto, Ambarto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more than twice as long as the other ficlets because it’s for two boys instead of one, and because the matter of their names is rather complicated. This is also more angsty than the earlier ones (as could be expected) and explores a wider range of Nerdanel's thoughts and feelings.

It is Nerdanel who suggests that they have one more child. She and Fëanáro have not spoken of the matter since the time Curufinwë learned to walk and talk; their consensus then was no, or rather not yet at least. Fëanáro never brings up the topic after that, which to his wife is no surprise. He is so happy teaching Curufinwë that he finds no sorrow in their youngest son leaving behind early childhood. For Nerdanel, Curufinwë is all too soon too tall and too proud for parents’ hugs and indeed eager to grow up.

They have had five children, Nerdanel reminds herself, a greater number than in most families, a greater blessing than anyone should dare demand. All boys, but bright, beautiful boys she loves with all that she is.

Wanting a girl is not why her heart yearns for another child, she believes. It is simply that her arms feel so empty. She finds herself visiting often her sister and her friends who have young children, to try and satisfy that longing for a cheerful, trusting toddler to hold or a peacefully sleeping babe to gaze down at.

It doesn’t help, just makes things worse. _I am still young enough and strong_ , she finds herself thinking. _I could still have children and have much to give them._ It just feels so selfish when she already has so much.

Fëanáro has no such concerns. When one night she turns to him and asks what he thinks of having another child, he asks ‘Why not?’ with a smile as fierce as his spirit.

She has no answer to that, only doubts so small she dares not speak them aloud. A quiet, distant fear that she wants another child because she feels she had so little to give to the last one they had, the one who is so wholly his father’s son. Another fear is that perhaps Fëanáro would give her that one child more just because he always wants everything, not because his heart yearns for more children to join their family as ardently as hers does.

Then again… children are a blessing from the One: surely they will not be given any more if it is not right. And Nerdanel knows her own strength. Even if Fëanáro is engrossed with new, ever more ambitious projects and at times has little patience for their children except for Curufinwë his apprentice, even if he would not give as much of his time and spirit to a future child as he has given to the ones that came before, she is confident that she can make up for his shortcomings.

A few years later when she holds in her arms two red-haired babies, near mirror images of each other, Nerdanel wonders no longer about her selfishness. She and Fëanáro have been blessed again, and their little twins are perfect, and it is absolutely right that they are here, part of their family. Fëanáro smiles at her and their newest sons with tears in his eyes, then leans carefully over the sleeping babies and kisses her with love and tenderness, and there is nothing on Arda that she could regret.

She does wish her husband had a little more diplomacy in him, though, when he announces the names he's chosen for the children that they have already agreed shall be their last. Pityafinwë, _little Finwë_ , is a sweet name, but Telufinwë, _last Finwë_ , is another insult to Fëanáro’s half-siblings who may well still have several children between them since they are younger than he is and do not have families as large.

Telufinwë’s name does not cause as much of a stir as Nelyafinwë’s did but still Nerdanel hears of disgruntled mutterings from those who already have little love for her husband, and she also has to worry about her older sons’ reactions to those mutterings.

At one court function she happens upon Maitimo dragging Tyelkormo and Carnistir out into the garden, 'to cool down’, as he quickly says to his mother. Nerdanel is almost certain that this has something to do with the remark they overheard earlier about Fëanáro’s arrogance. She supposes she should be grateful that Fëanáro himself wasn’t there to hear it, and that Maitimo is managing his most hot-headed brothers who'd made a rare alliance in order to defend their father.

It is clear, then, that it would be better for Pityo and Telvo, as they are called within the family, to receive their mother-names sooner rather than later. Yet Nerdanel is reluctant to hurry, held back by the memory of disappointing Curufinwë. Though Curufinwë didn’t take the opportunity she offered for him not to have the first mother-name she had chosen, she wants her youngest sons to also have the same chance. For that she needs to wait until they are old enough to make the decision.

So Nerdanel waits until they are grown enough to have a conversation with, a simple one at least. She thinks of two names, very similar yet slightly different just like the twins, and arranges a quiet chat between the three of them. For while the twins fight as much Tyelkormo and Carnistir used to, unlike those older brothers they are inseparable rest of the time, and Nerdanel thinks they would like to have this conversation together.

'I have chosen names for both of you’, she tells the excited boys who have guessed that something important is about to happen.

Their excitement seems to fade, their legs no longer swinging, faces fallen.

'Names?’ asks Pityo.

'Yes, names’, their mother says. 'I know it is a little earlier than for some children, but I would like to give you names of my choosing.’

The twins look at each other, then at her.

'We’d rather just have one name’, says Pityo.

'Ah.’ Taken aback, Nerdanel says, 'I am glad if you like the names your father gave you, but you know, don’t you, that everyone gets a name from their mother as well. You can decide which one to use –’

'No, that’s not what he meant.’ Telvo gives his twin an annoyed shove. 'He meant that we’d rather have one name we shared.’

'Yes’, pipes Pityo, shoving back. 'We don’t mind you giving a name but could you give us just one? We don’t need two.’

Nerdanel’s first instinct is to laugh; the twins are looking up at her eagerly and earnestly, blissfully unaware of the peculiarity of their request. She stifles the laugh, though, and explains gently that names are meant to identify, to tell apart, and that everyone has different names because of this.

'We already have different names’, Telvo points out, always the one to lay out careful arguments where Pityo is more likely to simply insist or demand. 'We are Telvo and Pityo. So people can identify us by those names. But we would like a name to share, as well.’

'Oh my silly little redheads.’ Nerdanel lays a gentle hand on each silky head. 'Are you sure? There are times when you like to be separate, as well.’

She reminds them of a few of those times, but in return they remind her again that they do have the different names too and can use those when they wish.

'Very well’, Nerdanel says finally, recognising the stubbornness these children of her and Fëanáro's have inherited from both of their parents. 'But you need to wait a few days at least, for I need to come up with a new name. Neither of the ones I had chosen suits you both. I think you need to have a very special name to share, don’t you?’

The twins agree with enthusiasm but then they prove to be almost as impatient in waiting for a name as Carnistir was. They follow her around the house and badger her for it for the next few days, and Nerdanel finds it difficult to think. No foresight arrives, which is no surprise for she never had any, nor does any special insight. All she can think of is simple names, and she tells her impatient children as much when they hop into her studio and ask once again.

'A simple name is alright’, says Pityo. 'A simple name can still be special, can’t it?’

'Of course it can’, Nerdanel assures the child she has called _little one_ for years, for that is what the shortened version of Pityafinwë’s name amounts to.

'So give us a simple name’, says Telvo.

Nerdanel blows marble dust off Telvo’s red curls and ruffles Pityo’s. 'Ambarussa.’ _Top-russet._

The smiles she receives in return for the name tell her that she has not made a mistake like she did with Curufinwë. The twins are happy with their mother-name, and so is Nerdanel: it is a simple but sweet and affectionate name for sweet, affectionate boys. And it describes in its own way how the twins have always been happy with the colour of their hair, delighted to share this unusual feature with their mother and their adored, idolised big brother Maitimo who was already a man grown by the time his youngest brothers were born but no less loved by them for it.

Fëanáro is not happy with the name when he hears it, or rather, he is not happy that the twins share it. He says nothing in front of the jubilant Ambarussar, as Nerdanel already has begun to call them in the plural, but when they retire to the privacy of their bedchamber he tells her he doesn’t approve of her decision.

Nerdanel had not asked for his approval beforehand, for the giving of a name is between the parent and child alone. She never spoke against the names Fëanáro gave their first and last child, though they grieved her.

But Fëanáro asks that she give the twins different names, even after she explains why she chose to break tradition.

'It is not right’, he says. 'Similar though they may be, they are different, and all their names should reflect that.’

'I think–’ begins Nerdanel and then says no more, for at that moment, finally, suddenly, arrives foresight.

She sees nothing for a moment, a darkness unlike any she has ever seen surrounding her like a suffocating veil placed upon her eyes and nose and mouth, then there are smells – something metallic, something salty, then the sharp smell of fire. And then there is nothing but fire, all around her, and it burns everything away, it burns _her_ away.

When she returns to her self and her bedroom and her husband, Fëanáro is shaking her and shouting her name.

Nerdanel pushes him away. 'I am fine’, she says hoarsely.

'You looked so strange for a moment.’ He looks very disquieted.

She raises a hand to her face and is amazed to find no tears. Surely such loss as she felt should be mourned…

'Nerdanel!’ Fëanáro grabs her again. 'What is wrong with you?’

She turns his hold on her arm into an embrace, leaning into him. After a moment his arms settle around her more gently, and it helps her stop shaking. 'Umbarto’, she says into his chest. _Fated. One of our children is doomed to a grim fate. Oh, why did you have to ask me for another name?_

Fëanáro flinches at the sound of the word from her lips. 'Surely you mean Ambarto? Umbarto is no name for a child. Nerdanel, did you have a –’ He can’t even bring himself to say it.

Nerdanel says nothing, just holds on to him and prays, prays with all her heart that this first ever vision of hers will prove false though she knows it doesn’t work that way.

'He should be called Ambarto instead’, says Fëanáro after a while, his voice as broken as hers. _Exalted_.

'As you wish’, she whispers. 'It will make no difference.’

Now she does cry. Oh, how she wishes at this moment that she never had any foresight, yet she will only come to wish for it more in years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this last scene, I adhered closely to the Shibboleth passage about these names though I made the conversation a bit more loving and intimate than Tolkien’s short description makes it appear (quote can be found [here](http://www.thrihyrne.net/AmrodAmras.html)). I like to think that while Fëanor and Nerdanel had disagreements already before the Silmarils and so on, they were mostly able to negotiate through them and remained close. Nerdanel saw Fëanor’s flaws but loved him despite them, aided by her wise and understanding nature even during difficult moments, and Fëanor tried to rein in his temper because he loved her as well.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing these ficlets, especially because I got to explore Nerdanel’s character more through the names she gave her sons. She’s almost always a supporting character in my fics but I'm very fond of her.
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the comments and kudos, they make me happy and inspire me <3


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